Summary;
Kramer and Striäk chat over chai tea, while Levi goes through the first few stages of cleaning withdrawal.

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"I have been working with Marlow on an Eldian restorationist movement. It's unlike the others." Kramer takes a seat, frowning. Striäk still hasn't looked once at him since they returned from Erudtion's insane psychopath lab/warehouse. On the walk to Striäk's lonely apartment, he was oddly reserved.

"The previous one was mainly led by Grisha Yeager and Dina Fritz, if memory serves me correctly. The one before that had unknown leaders, as did the original. Though... " Striäk trails off, and Kramer swallows a sip of the pre-set tea in front of him. He didn't know when it had been set, or if it even was for him, but he needed something down his throat to wash down the taste of bile. The tea calmed him and tasted more flavoursome than tea ought to normally taste. It was still warm.

"Regarding the original, I have a partner who claims it was run by a girl who claimed herself to be named Ymir and was the true descendant, as well as a resurrection of the founder. That Ymir, last I heard, was turned on Paradis some decades ago. Still, she may have some truth in her words... but that's preposterous, seeing as the timeline doesn't... it simply doesn't match." Striäk hums, seemingly to himself, before abruptly snapping his fingers.

"My apologies. Regarding the previous one, however, the information was given by the Owl, whom you would be familiar with." Striäk casually pours a cup of tea without spilling a drop as he speaks. Kramer, deep, deep inside, envies him. He has what are probably the shakiest hands in the entire Marleyan army. He can't shoot a gun for the life of him.

Kramer nods. The infamous Owl.

It's weird, he suddenly realizes, to be speaking to Striäk about treason. Very weird indeed.

He takes another sip of the tea.

"The Owl was Eren Kruger." Kramer lowers the cup.

"Eren Kruger?" He parroted. Striäk nods. It seems almost solemn.

"As in Eren Kruger, the Marleyan soldier who was declared missing years ago?" He doesn't add the second part of his thoughts, choosing to ignore it. It would do no good to speak about it now.

"Yes. He was the Owl. He also possessed the Attack Titan."

Kramer's mind blanks at that. Kruger had one of the nine? And he never told him? Something, like hurt, spears his heart. He had joined the army to die a hero's death with Kruger, under the guise of 'helping the country'. On the topic of 'helping the country', the military enlistment team should have at least learned by now that anyone, absolutely anyone with that excuse who wasn't in their child soldier program had other intentions. The worst part was that they never suspected a thing. Maybe they just accepted anyone and everyone as cannon fodder and didn't look twice at reasoning. Maybe to them, all Eldians who willingly go to war were just a population. A number to sacrifice. And Kramer didn't know which option was worse.

The higher-ups thought of every soldier as expendable, or that no one can't get a grasp enough to look through the new recruit's records. That Marley was becoming leisurely in their protocols. That they thought - and knew - that they were becoming effectively omniscient. When there were pure devils like Ackerman out in the world, being complacent was the last thing they should have been doing.

Kramer didn't know when he'd started referring to 'Levi' as 'Ackerman' in his head, but it helped distinguish between the potent enemy he'd fought on the beach and the man he was trying to rescue.

But he didn't trust Levi. He knew that he didn't deserve what inevitable torture that awaited him, but that was his human decency speaking. So, for now, he wouldn't trust Levi. Not yet, at least. He would need to see what the man was actually like, personality-wise, to decide that.

Striäk's voice breaks him from his thoughts.

"What is your story." His voice is quieter than before.

"What?"

"Your story. Why you joined the military." He repeats.

Kramer feels lost for a moment. The Striäk he knew at orientation would never have asked him that. Conflicting ideas come to mind. Should he lie? He's trusted Striäk for years now, as a soldier and as his superior, but this new version of him he was seeing was starting to unnerve him. It was like he had to relearn who this man was all over again. But to become allies with someone, one had to start with trust. Kramer decides to go with the truth.

"Eren Kruger convinced me. I was feeling hopeless about myself, so he pushed me towards a goal. I wanted to be active, and I wanted a means to an end without seeming like one of those bastard high-ups. I wanted at least a productive way, so Kruger hooked me up, faked some paper about my age, and I enlisted with him into the military." Striäk hums, sitting down.

"I'm glad you told me the truth."

Kramer nods, clutching a wad of jacket in his hands, fiddling with the fabric. What was he supposed to do with his hands? Why didn't they at least give him the decency of pockets? If he ever becomes someone important in the heigherrchy, he would make pockets a must.

"I'm going to ask you another question. Please answer honestly." Kramer swallows.

"Are you truly of Eldian blood?" He freezes. Striäk seems to take his stiffening as confirmation and nods.

"I suspected as much. I am not truly of pure Marleyan blood myself. My mother was an Eldian. She only told me on her deathbed." Kramer only nods. It was all too common, either way. When the silence seems to continue, he swallows a few times, before gaining the courage to speak.

"My parents. I think." Striäk looks up.

"I mean- I believe they were both Eldian." Kramer swallows. "But how do you know Marlow?" Striäk's smile seems to appear genuine now.

"Now you've started asking the right questions." He pulls out a chair from the table and sits directly in front of Kramer. Kramer gains the courage to look up and is surprised to find Striäk looking him in the eye for once.

"I should probably start at the beginning."

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"Get up."

There's mist all around him. He can feel callous chains digging into his wrists. The mist seems to encompass it all, though. Fog in his head. A haze . . . it's cold, dampening, and stalling to leave.

Slow

So slow

Too slow

And now he's going to lose his mind.

He's used to being fast, though he'll never admit it. Soaring in ODM gear, sprinting through the streets of the underground and Scouts fitness practices, and running leagues ahead of everyone else before they have time to catch up. Though that last bit might be an exaggerated metaphor, it's more or less true.

He ran up the ranks.

He sprinted up in kill counts.

He earned everyone's respect, or at least their attention, faster than any other soldier in the history of the survey corps.

At his pinnacle, he was an idea. A legend. A fire that burned itself and regenerated every moment, stronger than the last. A determined pillar that stood for others when they could not. An arrow that sped from one Titan to the next, never wilting, never faltering.

Humanity's strongest soldier. Though he loathed the title, it was annoyingly accurate.

He was the hope of humanity and the bane of the Titans. But he was fast. It was what he was known for.

But now, he wasn't fast enough, not anymore.

Now, he was slowing down.

Now he was lagging, faltering. Losing his footing - getting cold, freezing down to his core and gasping for air. Wilting and burning away in the overwhelming heat of the veldt.

His fingers are numb when he moves them. He can't feel anything beyond his head, which throbs in time with his heartbeat. He feels sick. Maybe he is sick. Maybe, this was his punishment for all the titans he'd slaughtered over the past six years. A cynical permanent punishment.

A shiver runs down his spine, and it's a mild warning before a sentiment like ice washes over him. Suddenly, he can feel his body again, but it's freezing. He's caught in the frost of this odd world, the feeling void, merciless and desperate in its grasp. He forces his eyes open for a moment and realizes his breath started to fog. His teeth chatter against his will, and he tries to curl into himself, do anything to fight against the sudden chill, but he's held down by chains that seem to sprout from the steam. He spots a looming, monstrously-large Titan-like hand in the shadows, reaching towards him, but it disappears as suddenly as it arrived.

He gasps as another wave of sleet rolls over him.

He feels his throat drying as his lungs protest at the further dropping temperature.

Something disgustingly warm splatters on his upper lip, and he nearly gasps in revulsion. He stops himself, though, and decides to twist his head to wipe it on the shoulder of his sleeve, shivering as the air brushes his neck. He's mildly surprised when his white shirt ends up stained red.

He forces himself to lean back, staring at the sky again. The oddly gray sky. This was a strange dream. A strange lucid dream.

Take a deep breath. Calm down.

He closes his eyes and forced himself to take in a shaky breath through his nose. He holds it for a few seconds before letting it go.

It's the moment he brings his attention back to the sky when he noticed the small, almost hidden white flakes that fall and stay on the imaginary table he's situated on.

Snowflakes. His mind supplies.

Snow

Snow.

It was snow. That was the tie-in to everything.

"Remember Levi. Please."

Suddenly, he's thrust into a memory he has no recollection of having.

It was his - what? Fifth? Sixth? - expedition beyond the walls. His first one with snow, though. That was important.

The weather was crap because of course, it was. A snowstorm. And because of that, he ended up also getting another 'first' checked off his list. His first near-fatal injury courtesy of the scouting regiment. Luckily, so far, it was his last.

When his little memory briefing was over, he was thrust feet-first into the vision. He briefly spots a gleaming, menacing, snow-covered rock out of the corner of his eye. That's the one glance he gets of his assailant before time seems to unfreeze as he flips over in the air with speed that winds him. Internally, Levi feels like he'll throw up, but his body in this memory seems to be too cold to feel anything but numb. He comes down on the rock, and the fall isn't pretty. He lands on his back, that much he's sure about. If not for the fact that the fall knocks the air from his lungs, then the "crack" he hears would. Broken ribs.

He goes with his momentum, and he hits the back of his head against the rock as well. He feels something come up his throat, and he turns his head to the side and coughs. He groans as blood splatters on the snow beside him. His hands had let go of his swords at some point, probably a reflex to flying through the air at high speed. As he lays there, his back starts to ache until every breath was a challenge. He wines as the pain spikes up, and he can do nothing but lay there as he struggles to breathe.

It seems the moment he spent upright was nothing but that - a moment. He falls, limp to the ground, gasping for air in a few seconds. His hands are frozen as he pulls them into fists to conserve heat. His gloves do virtually nothing, though, as all the scout's winter gear does. The snow's cold against his hood, and it gradually seeps into it. This was a pretty crappy memory so far.

He pushes his head to the side, propping himself up against a slight ledge in the rock. He may have a concussion now, he wasn't sure. Actually, scratch that, he absolutely has a concussion. The entire forest was shining with ethereal light. Of course, he had a concussion. The feeling of his cheek pressing against the ground, melting the snow under his face, was enough to lull him into a state of semi-consciousness. It seemed like a better fate than staring at a glowing forest for who knew how long.

A voice, quiet, tentative, shy, speaks up.

A concussion. You've been concussed, Levi. Do you know what that means?

The snowflakes from before are like a tidal wave. So cold they almost sting.

He's lying face first into it, and he can't breathe and for Sina's sake, move you, dunce! You're going to freeze to death ╴

There's the voice now. Is it different? Louder? Abrasive? Wasn't it there before? -

please pass out, please pass out, please ╴

"Move! You're going to suffocate in snow or drown in your blood. Punctured lung. But as to whether stifling or smothering comes first -"

please, I can't take this -

"I'm betting on blood. There are other means, of course. Dying of hypothermia -"

I can't die before telling everyone -

"Blunt force trauma, mostly to the head, at least a few broken bones -"

Before telling Hange -

"Probably a fractured skull. Punctured lung, broken ribs -"

I need to find her. Find all of them. I've felt worse. Just breathe through it, it'll end eventually. -

"Something's wrong with your back. That's a bit important to keep intact when it comes to ODM gear, don't you think? Plus, snow's not exactly the best environment for -"

He's interrupted by soft, weakening coughs.

Am I going to die? I . . . that doesn't sound. . . good -

"You could die today. Or tomorrow. Now. Next week. You could be eaten by a Titan. As you lay here, you're essentially a complimentary snack -"

Shut up. I'll get up. That's what I always do -

"That's funny. Genuinely hilarious, Levi. Do you know where you are? Do you know what you are? Who you are? Useless. Filthy, like the underground rat you are -"

I said, shut up -

"Does it look like I care about what you say? Do you see how easy it is to spite you? To get a reaction out of you? And yet, you seem to pride yourself on being cold. On being cantankerous. You can't even succeed at that. -"

Stop.

"You're broken, Levi. Like all those you try to save. Stop trying, they all leave you in the end. We both know that -"

Liar. I'll find a way to keep moving forward. No matter what happens or who dies -

"Pitiable for trying to hope you can keep someone -"

Shut up -

"Weak. You can't keep them alive. You can't even keep up hope that they're still alive. You can't say goodbye, Levi. You can't. You cannot say goodbye. What kind of Captain can't keep his squad alive? Can't keep his commander from dying in a violent, painful -"

What are you talking about? -

"And you didn't even know he was still alive -"

What commander? -

"I'll pity you for this when everything comes back. You could have saved him, but you were weak. Weak. Always weak. Weak and filthy. You're never good enough to save anybody, let alone people you care about."

What in Sina's name are you talking about? -

"Not what, Levi. Who. You should remember."

Remember what? What are you -

"Remember Levi?"

Your friends. Everyone who remembered you not as a tool, or a soldier, but as a person. You should do them the decency of memory. You were a soldier Levi. A comrade to so, so many.

But you're still a traitor. Always the traitor. The lying fox keeps to itself. You forget when it suits you. An underground rat that never changed, no matter what indoctrination and years of training it was given. An emotionless, cruel, cynical bastard that should have died -

His thoughts cut off like the severing of thread.

The snow is there, burning again. It demands his attention. A good soldier obeys orders. And what was he but a good soldier? Wait. No - the voice was wrong. Whatever the voice said was wrong. Therefore, he wasn't a soldier. He was Levi. Captain Levi - wherever that ranking had come from, he was a captain. Of what, he didn't know. But he wasn't a soldier. He wasn't a traitor. He wasn't... he didn't have friends. No comrades. None.

He was not a soldier.

When he coughs, in this dream - is it still a dream? This feels far too real to be a dream . . . - he comes to a startling realization. The voice was right. Blood came first, after all.

"Wake up." The voice is soft, not demanding. Quiet, and feminine. Levi wonders if he's heard it before.

The snow fades, and he's left in forgiving darkness. The voice leaves him too.

All of a sudden, he's struck by how lonely it is without it.

Another call breaks through the haze, splintering the memory world into a thousand fragments.

"Wake the Hell up, Devil."

He's left floating in the haze again.

He doesn't know if it's him convincing himself to wake up, to face whatever Hell he'd created, but he doesn't want to wake up now. He seethes in protest as the dull throbs in his head return, his consciousness yielding to reality faster. His senses were coming back, stubbornly.

He attempts to grasp at anything in this dull void, to clutch it close, to let it stay, but his hands come up empty, and he spots the blood on his shoulder. It seems to blossom into a deadly, wispy flower.

The shift is sudden, and Levi doesn't realize his eyes are open until he finds a man standing before him. Above him.

The throbbing in his head increases. He never got headaches, let alone whatever this was. A migraine? He groans, bringing a hand up to press into his temples, but something stops it. He opens his eyes grudgingly and is surprised to find metal chains, keeping his arms from rising higher than a few centimetres.

He only just now realized that he was also tied down to a chair, the backrest tilted so he was nearly lying down flat on his back. His hands were immobilized inside layers and layers of what appeared to be gauze. Metal cuffs and leather straps were uncomfortably tight around his wrists and ankles.
For Maria's sake, can't he be lucky for once in his life?

He lets his head fall limply, suddenly losing the energy to keep it up. There were lights, too. He hated these lights. They were above him, angled almost directly into his eyes. They seemed to stab directly into his brain, increasing the throbbing.

What are they? Even his thoughts felt slow.

They're not candles, lanterns, or those weird glowing crystals from the underground chapel.

"Hm." Someone speaks.

For Sina's sake-

He opens his eyes, staring at the man. He wanted to deal with him later. Then he could leave, and go back to . . . where was he from? Someplace with scouts, right? And... walls? Yeah. That seemed vaguely accurate.

"Who the Hell are you? And where am I?" He croaks, swallowing as his throat protests. It was dry, itchy, and hurt to speak.

"That's not important, Mr. Ackerman. All that matters is that you are now awake and responsive, it seems." He replies, and Levi feels a twinge of shock that the man knows who he is, but at the same time, it's oddly expected. Of course, he does, because of course, he needs more crap in his life right now. He decides to stare the man down when he doesn't continue. He's glad when the man decides to break eye contact first.

The man heads towards a tray, the assortment of tools upon it hardly looked nice.

Torture was the first word that came to mind. Levi braced himself.

"Who the Hell are you?" He repeats softly. He feels like if he says anything beyond a whisper, he'll go into a vigorous coughing fit. He uses the opportunity to pull at the chains subtly. The man sighs and turned around, a cup of water in hand.

"That's not important, Mr. Ackerman." His tone sounds enervated, and Levi takes that as a good sign.

Abruptly, the man shoves the cup to his lips, and Levi nearly chokes.

"Drink. Your throat seems parched." The man ordered.

"Poison?" He asks, purely for the heck of it by this point.

"None. Only a mix of relaxants. Valium, and some succinylcholine if you're wondering." The man's seemingly pure honesty is mildly refreshing and infuriating.

"What's -" he gets interrupted by a cough. "that?" He finishes.

"As I stated, they're both relaxants. It causes symptoms such as drowsiness and slows down your heart and breathing rate." He pressed the cup again.

"Now, drink."

Levi, finding no clear option out of the situation, decides to drink the water. His throat feels better as he swallows it, and the man remains surprisingly gentle as he tilts the cup. He'd been drugged before, and it seemed like there was only this guy he had to worry about. He seemed nicer than literally every other thug that had anesthetized him before. So far, at least that was a plus.

When he's done, the man places the cup on a small, out-of-place-looking wooden coffee table and turns back his attention to the tray.

The man picks up a wicked-looking tool, and Levi, despite his years as a soldier, feels his heart rate pick up. The man glances at something, and Levi turns his gaze to it as well.

It's a . . . black box? With coloured lines? What was he looking at? What was he supposed to be looking at? The man speaks up.

"It's called a screen. It's connected to a heart monitor. It reads and displays your pulse. It just went up."

When Levi frowns, the man continues.

"Do you have a different word for it? The heart?" The man vaguely points at his chest, before bringing out a book from underneath a daunting-looking pile of paper and books. The papers and multiple books fall to the ground as the man picks the volume on the bottom, and Levi grits his teeth at the noise.

Levi's strife with the noise is short-lived, when the man flips to a labelled page. He gapes as the book opens to a description, and finds a near-accurate image of the survey corps salute. A dull whine fills his ears as the world fades away. All Levi can do is stare. The model even has a survey corps cloak fastened, and the illustrator took great care to include every detail of the cloak. The corps insignia shines, and Levi feels anger simmer inside him.

"The warriors provided the demonstration for the image after their return."

There was that word again - warriors. He's heard it before, but where?

You do the salute over the heart, yes?" He leaves the book in Levi's hand and takes a step back. The book is oddly heavy and it hurts his wrist to hold it in his awkward position. The man steps back and does his version of the salute, but it had countless amounts of less enthusiasm than one would have given him.

The voice in his mind speaks up again.

Connie would have done better than that.

There's sarcasm as if he should know who Connie was. Who the hell are these people?

"We use this," He steps to Levi's side, and pokes the thing clipped on his finger. "to measure it. There is also another one that was placed into your bloodstream to measure it internally as well."

Levi glanced down at himself and was surprised to realize that there was a needle stuck into his arm. He didn't feel anything.

"Anyways," The man places a pair of torturously glazed white gloves on his hands. He grabs the weird tool again with one hand and forces Levi's head back with the other. He's oddly gentle as if Levi was a child, and Levi can't help but feel like it was some form of subtle coercion.

The contact lasts for a second before the man lets him go, seemingly having done nothing.

While he's pondering this, the man's other hand comes up and angles one of the lights away from his face.

"I trust that you won't betray me for this," The man steps away, placing the tool back onto the tray. "but still. Levi. Let's keep what is about to happen a secret. Between us." Levi stays quiet, staring at the man.

He pulls out a mess of hidden wires from behind the tray and fiddles around with them. When he makes a final connection, he takes a step back and glances toward Levi.

All at once, the lights flare brighter. Levi hisses and looks away.

"Get some concentrated doses of GA ready for our, uh . . . resident. Keep it ready on standby for a few."

A beep rings somewhere, and a hissing sound starts. It's over in a few seconds. Levi decides to speak.

"Who are you? Who were you talking to?"

"That was my artificial intelligence. Or an AI for short. It does nothing much, for now. It only inspects verbal commands, transfers them into written commands and carries them out. It has a basic code in medical terminology, so it can at least handle that without messing anything up." He pauses and glances at something on one of the screen things.

"And please, as a future notice, do not pull on your manacles, we can see the resistance placed on them through a live feed." Levi tugs at them anyways. What was a 'live feed'?

"What's morphine? Where the heck am I?" It seems the man chose the silent treatment. He disassembles the wires in silence.

"Who are you?" He repeats. Hopefully, he can annoy this guy into telling him something.

"I'm running on limited coffee, Mr. Ackerman. I suggest you try not to test my patience today."

What in Sina's name was 'kaffee'?

Ignoring that thought, another one comes to mind.

An idea and, albeit, it was a rather childish method, it could work.

"Who are you?" The man stays silent.

"Who are you?" He repeats. The man stays silent but looks away.

"Who are you?" He's still reserved, but Levi spotted his jaw tick. At least he was getting somewhere.

"Who are you?' The man's fingers tighten into a fist.

"Where am I?" The man doesn't react this time.

"Why am I here?" The answer is, internally, obvious.

Before he could continue, another intrusive thought interrupts him.

Hange would be proud.

It came out of nowhere, was abrupt, and caught him off guard.

Who was Hange? And Connie? Erwin? What were these people his mind kept supplying? No, stop. Think about weird things later. First things first.

He tried to ignore the extraneous names - was this 'Hange' even a person? Could it be an object? No. It was a name. Plus, his thoughts had made it seem like this 'Erwin' and 'Connie' were people as well. He remembered what ODM gear was, and every meticulous detail about it. He recalled where the scouting legion headquarters were, remembered his office, the tea he shared with... someone? He hadn't forgotten objects or places, or things, but people it seemed. So Hange, Connie, and Erwin were people in his life. He just had to find out who. - for now, and proceeded with his plan. Thankfully, the man didn't seem to notice his relapse.

"Who are you? You already know who I am, obviously, but who are you?" The man moved out of his line of sight. A throb of pain makes him pause. His headache was acting up again.

"Once again, Mr. Ackerman, that information is irrelevant to you. Additionally, it would be in your own best interest to stay down." He reaches for something behind Levi's head.

Something disgustingly cold was tied to his forehead, and disgust flared in his mind. Probably another cincture.

"What are you doing?" He hissed, plan all but shirked. Nothing seemed to faze this man.

"I'm preparing you for . . . " The man trailed off and wrung his hands, the first seemingly normal action he had done this entire time. "examination." The man frowns. "The medication should have worked by now."

"Half the crap you're saying doesn't even make sense - "

"Relax. Close your eyes -"

He was cut off by a door slamming open behind him. Levi tried to turn to see who, or what had come in, but the recent strap on his forehead forced him to only look forward. The man jumped at the noise and glanced at whatever had come in, before slinking towards Levi.

Levi followed the man with his eyes and glared at him as he came closer. To his surprise, the man brought his mouth uncomfortably close to his ear and whispered.

"I am simply here to help. Trust me, Levi. I am not your enemy." And with that, the man walked out of view.

Levi, purely by habit, and maybe by some unconscious recollection - he wasn't even sure anymore - wanted nothing more at that moment to find the nearest washing basin and bodily submerge himself inside. Instead, he swallowed and turned his attention to the other man who had now walked in. His demeanour seemed to be completely different from the other man's. While the other man seemed nervous, and otherwise quiet and obedient, this man seemed to be vibrating with childlike excitement. Genuine excitement for what? Levi didn't want to know.

"Salutations, Mr. Ackerman." He didn't give Levi a chance to answer before he continued.

"I must apologize for the lack of hospitality, but we're running on a short time frame and we have much to do, you know." He waved his hand.

"This and that, I'm sure you know. People to impress - important, flashy people, might I add."

He turned his attention to the other man behind him.

"Is the GA working?"

"No, sir I wanted the other medications to take hold first. I have it on standby with the AI."

"Jay. We talked about this."

"Apologies, sir," Jay answers.

Who names their child after a bird?

"No, no. It's fine." He turns his regard back to Levi, and Levi is momentarily frozen by the look of pure insane joy that flashes on his face.

Oh no. Another Hange.

It's unexpectedly so quiet in the room as this happens, that Levi can hear the other man behind him swallow, probably in discomfort. His heartbeat has never seemed louder.

"Are you lightheaded?" Jay behind him speaks up.

No. I'm fine you psychopaths.

"No." it comes out sounding like a question, and, mentally, Levi kicks himself in the shins. The man in front of him frowns.

"A peculiar enigma, you are, Mr. Ackerman. The relaxants should have started working. Plus, it is succinylcholine. Either way, it's a learning opportunity. For the both of us." The man has a nametag on his jacket, but Levi can't see it from his angle.

"Can you move your limbs alright? Any numbness? Pain? Nausea or hallucinations?" It's Jay's turn to ask this time. Levi grits his teeth at the question and turns to face him.

"Yes, I can move. No, no, no and hell no." The man reacts.

"Truly? Move the fingers of your left hand, then. Make a fist."

"In case you haven't realized, I can't because my arm's tied to the table."

"Truly?" The man lifts a chain cuff and a mess of white gauze, and waves them in the air. Levi stares at the mess and him in confusion and glances down at himself. His left hand's chain and bandages were gone, the skin pink and glossy around the wrist, and lined and pale around the rest of his hand. He leans his head back and glares at the man.

And he didn't even feel anything.

The man places the cuff aside on the tray. "Now. Move it." Levi forces his hand into a fist. It, frustratingly, takes a few moments, and his hand is numb, heavy and tingling, but that's not what concerns him. As Jay takes a step closer, he gently places a gloved hand against his wrist. He brings a tourniquet and ties it around his arm, just underneath his shoulder, but he doesn't feel it. He can't feel the entire arm. He can do nothing but watch along with them as Jay pulls out a needle and proceeds to gently insert it into his arm after finding a vein. Blood wells up, and he cleans it neatly with a cloth.

"What . . ." he trails off. What does he even say? They don't have stuff like this in the scouts. Or in the walls, for that matter. How's he supposed to react? He's never had something that numbed his body to the point that he couldn't feel pain. There were a few situations where the opposite was true - now that was hell - but nothing like this. He stared at Jay as he hooked up the line to a pole hanging beside him, connecting it to a bag.

"It's the 'relaxants', as Jay puts it, that we had you take earlier." The man explains.

"In the water? Dirty trick to pull." Levi appeals. It's Jay who replies as he replaces the cuff back onto his wrist.

"Yeah." Jay takes a step back and simply stares at Levi for a moment.

"Are you sure you're not dizzy?"

"Yes." He insists and glares back. He takes a deep breath, wishing for sleep. This headache was really getting to him.

He hears a quiet; "Fascinating." before everything does quiet again.

Levi pulls his head away from the cool metal as much as he can, the temperature freezing when compared to the rest of the room. He blinks.

His view is off-kilter and he forces himself to bat away the haze, but it doesn't vanish. Suddenly, the other man, who had been otherwise quiet, bounds to his feet and peers intently into Levi's eyes. Levi moves as far back as the straps let him. The man seems to blur in front of him like a muddled painting.

"No, no! Jay. Look. See." Jay comes into his field of vision. Levi can barely keep his eyes open as he stares bleakly at them.

"His pupils are dilated," Jay observes, and Levi swallows.

"It's happening! Finally!" The man exclaims and stands up, before staring back down at Levi.

"Oh, and just so you know, my name is Erudition. Erudition Yeager. You probably won't remember that due to the midazolam, but that's fine. I'll tell you as many times as needed until the name sticks." Levi forces himself to stare at the lights above, the only direction the shackle lets him face. He's ignoring this guy, but the last name feels oddly familiar. The lights are blinding, as expected, and they increase his headache by tenfold, but if he tears his focus now, he'll see this guy's eyes and the pure, menacing mania that fills them. The spotlights fade in and out of focus, changing intensity every few seconds.

Levi feels a spike of pain as he closes his eyes, aftermath of the flare burning into his mind, the headache pounding even more imperiously as he rests his head as far down as it'll go.

"Let's count down from 10, Mr. Ackerman. You should be out by 6." The man says. Jay seems nowhere to be found.

"Ten." Levi closes his eyes, wishing he were anywhere else but here.

"Nine." Why did he have to end up involved with psychopathic people and their psychopath ideas?

"Eight." He takes a deep breath, but that doesn't stop the creeping exhaustion from taking hold. He's shivering, he just realized.

A shaky breath is his last moment of uninterrupted consciousness.

"Seven..." There's a trailing off at the end, and Levi forces himself to stay awake, but he only catches the first bit of Erudition's sentence.

"Goodnight, Mr. Ackerman. I hope -"

He's out like a light.